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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28622511">losing all my cool (burning up for you)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/brbabe/pseuds/brbabe'>brbabe</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Commissions [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>NCT (Band), WayV (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Artists, Christmas Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Slow Burn, Swimmer Mark Lee (NCT)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:22:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,135</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28622511</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/brbabe/pseuds/brbabe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>If Mark really thinks about it – if he lets himself really think about it, there was no way he would be able to not fall for Kunhang. He’s just his type. Mark truly believes he’s everyone’s type. Sweet in a way that just feels safe, dorky and stupid in a way that makes him hot. The prince hair, the shape of his lips, the dip of his collarbones.</p><p>Kunhang was made for Mark, except Mark didn’t see it as quick as he should’ve and by the time he noticed the sweaty palms and the irregular thumping of his heart, Kunhang was his best friend. If First-Year Mark had paid attention, Senior Year Mark would be allowed to lean down and leave a wet kiss on Kunhang’s nape.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mark Lee/Wong Kun Hang | Hendery</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Commissions [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2057934</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>62</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>losing all my cool (burning up for you)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello! This is my second commission and I have another one coming out soon! I will probably open commissions again after that so if anyone's interested, you can find me on @kitsuwei on Twitter. </p><p>Thank you Vero and I hope you like this.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His skin is warm to the touch, Mark notices, as he places his palm down on the small of Kunhang’s back. <em> It’s fine. </em> Mark wishes he could lean down and <em> taste </em> it – lick around his skin, feel the smoothness of it under his tongue. It’s chill if he can’t, though. He can deal with being just friends and pressing his hand down on Kunhang’s back until the tension starts to dissolve, the knot on his spine getting undone. </p><p>“You’re <em> so </em> good at this,” Kunhang says, voice muffled against the bed. “I feel like I should pay you.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Mark laughs. He presses the tip of his fingers against Kunhang’s shoulder blades. “Buy me lunch and we are even.” He says, using the heel of his palm to massage Kunhang’s back.</p><p>He lets out a faint moan. “Sure.”</p><p>There’s something extremely sweet in the way Kunhang breathes out whenever Mark presses his hand down. Mark catalogues every sound, places them in the back of his mind so he can pick them apart late at night when he’s alone in his room. Years ago the thought of thinking of Kunhang <em> this way </em> would make Mark blush until his whole face burned with shame, but Mark is very past that point. Being in love with Kunhang is natural to him now, as natural as holding his breath and jumping into a pool every Wednesday and Friday after his classes. Having Kunhang on his bed, under him, with tense muscles and knots on his spine caused by the unhealthy amount of time he spends sitting at his cheap computer chair making digital art of boys kissing is as natural as swallowing pool water. The sting of inhaling chlorine doesn’t hurt as much anymore – just like being in love with his best friend. </p><p>If Mark really thinks about it – if he lets himself <em> really </em> think about it, there was no way he would be able to <em> not </em> fall for Kunhang. He’s <em> just </em> his type. Mark truly believes he’s everyone’s type. Sweet in a way that just feels safe, dorky and stupid in a way that makes him <em> hot.</em> The prince hair, the shape of his lips, the dip of his collarbones. The smoothness of his skin, how warm he is.</p><p>Kunhang was <em> made </em> for Mark, except Mark didn’t see it as quick as he should’ve and by the time he noticed the sweaty palms and the irregular thumping of his heart, Kunhang was his best friend. If First-Year Mark had paid attention, Senior Year Mark would be allowed to lean down and leave a wet kiss on Kunhang’s nape.</p><p>“I think you’re all good now,” Mark says, climbing off the bed. “You really should buy a better chair before you fuck up your back for real.”</p><p><em> “Some </em> of us are working on a coffeehouse, Mark, how much do you think I make?”</p><p>“Enough to buy a new chair.”</p><p>Kunhang rolls on the bed. “Barely.”</p><p>“I could get you a chair.”</p><p>Kunhang rolls his eyes. “You could.”</p><p>“You wouldn’t use it though.”</p><p>He laughs. “You <em> know </em> me! That’s really sweet of you, but my chair is fine.”</p><p>“I spent the past 25 minutes massaging your back. Your chair is <em> garbage</em>.”</p><p>“Shhhh, she will hear you!”</p><p>Mark presses his lips together. “Let me pay for half of it, then.”</p><p>“Mark,” Kunhang says, sitting cross-legged on the bed. “Is it really that important to you?”</p><p>“Yeah, it is,” He says. “I don’t like seeing you in pain.”</p><p>“It’s a small discomfort.”</p><p>“Whatever. I don’t like it. Let’s get a new chair tomorrow after practice.”</p><p>Kunhang stares at him – warm gaze, dark eyes. Moments like these are almost enough to make Mark believe the small voice in the back of his head that insists Kunhang might be into him, too. When he stares, when he reaches for Mark, when he looks like this: fond. </p><p>“Okay.” He says. </p><hr/><p>Swimming practice runs late, and Mark has to text Kunhang in between laps to let him know. He expects Kunhang to go home – he <em> doesn’t </em>want a new chair, after all. He doesn’t expect Kunhang to show up at his practice, sunglasses sliding down his nose and his bangs tied away from his forehead with pink hair clips. Kunhang leaves his backpack on the bench after fetching his sketchbook. Mark gets distracted staring at Kunhang’s concentrated face, so Lucas throws water at his face five seconds before their coach calls him out. </p><p>The sun is setting by the time Mark leaves the pool, he runs past Kunhang – still focused on his drawing – to the locker room so he can shower and feel like a human being again instead of feeling like a wet piece of cloth. After showering, Mark leaves the locker room to find Kunhang in the exact same spot, curled on top of his sketchbook, hand moving fast against the paper. </p><p>“What are you drawing?” He asks.</p><p>“Nothing,” Kunhang doesn’t look up but he closes his sketchbook and puts the pencil behind his ear. “Ready?”</p><p>Mark nods. “You never let me see what you’re sketching.”</p><p>Kunhang shrugs. “They aren’t ready– it’s a sketch. Rubbish. I show you stuff when they are finished.”</p><p>“Sketches are nice to look at,” Mark replies, fixing his snapback.</p><p>“Not mine,” He says. “You can barely make out the shapes, anyway, are we taking the bus? I think we could take the bus and then get a lift on our way home since we’ll have the chair.”</p><p>“We are taking an Uber,” Mark says. “And I’m gonna pay for delivery.”</p><p>Kunhang nods. “Then let’s go! I’m kinda excited to get a new chair now!”</p><p>Mark doesn’t comment on the way Kunhang is acting, because that would make his suspicious behaviour even worse. They get an Uber to the mall, and Mark googles which stores and brands are better while Kunhang talks about his day. He lets Kunhang curl his hand around his wrist and forces the butterflies in his stomach to quiet down. They look around three stores, trying out the chairs, Kunhang tries to speed up on one of them and Mark walks away before someone calls them out in the middle of the store. The skin of Mark’s wrist tingle, wanting Kunhang’s fingers back.</p><p>They get a new chair, they go home. Kunhang lays his head on Mark’s shoulder on their way back – which is totally fine! The thing about Mark is that he doesn’t pay attention to anything that isn’t his mom or swimming and then, after a while, Kunhang was added to the list. And now, Mark does pay attention to everything that is remotely related to Kunhang. That means he knows that Kunhang’s sketchbook has been around for at least a year because before that he used to draw in a notepad he won in a technology festival back in their second year.</p><p>So, sketchbook. Kunhang sketches more than he draws, if that makes sense, so Mark has seen his art, but not much. He used to see his sketches when Kunghang still used the notepad, but since the sketchbook happened, Mark doesn’t remember seeing his sketches at all – making quick math, he realises Kunhang hasn’t shown him any sketches in a year now. Not that there's anything wrong with it, but he's <em> always </em> sketching and Mark <em> is </em>his best friend so maybe there's an issue hidden in between these two sentences. </p><p>He doesn’t press on the matter though, and life goes on. </p><p>Kunghang’s new chair arrives the day after they bought it and Mark takes a few videos of him on his new chair so he can post them on his Instagram. Classes start getting the best of them when November ends and Christmas’ lights start to show up on the light poles outside their apartment. Mark has two weeks of swimming practice before break and Kunhang starts working on the night shift at the coffeehouse. Mark doesn't think it's a good idea but Kunhang has trouble saying no to his friends so when Xiaojun needed someone to cover him, Kunhang offered.</p><p>"I'll see you at the shop, then?" Mark is saying as he leaves swimming practice in the second week of December, phone secured between his ear and his shoulder. "Practice ended earlier and I could drink hot chocolate."</p><p>"Sure, I'll wait for you! We can walk home together... Are you sure you're not tired, though?"</p><p>He is. "Nah, I'm good. Also, I don't like that you're coming home alone. Nighttime is dangerous."</p><p>"Dude," Kunhang giggles. The word "dude" doesn't sound right coming from his mouth, but that might be the fact that being called dude by the dude you're in love with actually sucks. "You're so fucking sweet."</p><p>Mark blushes. "Only for you, though." He says, then freezes. Before he can add a less embarrassing ending to that sentence, Kunhang laughs on the other line. </p><p>"Yeah," He says. "I like it."</p><p>Mark's first thought is to flinch away from the phone so Kunhang won't hear the absolute horrible little sound he makes, and his second thought is to say "Okay, bye!" and hang up. </p><p>The coffeehouse at night is usually emptier than normal, which is great for Kunhang. He cleans the tables listening to music on his headphones and lets his break run longer so he can finish a drawing, or a book, or anything, really. Mark finds him like this, headphones placed neatly against his dark, soft hair and sketchbook opened on the table. There's a smudge of ink on the side of his right hand and he clearly isn't paying attention to his surroundings. There's a couple of girls on the table far from him and they're all staring - Mark can't blame them. He tries to be subtle and sneak a glance on what Kunhang is drawing and finds himself blushing as he notices Kunhang's entire page is full of doodles of him. Mark smiling, Mark with a swimming cap on, Mark's serious face - the one he does when getting ready for a competition. There are doodles of hands and arms and eyes and they all belong to Mark.</p><p>He pauses.</p><p>He had forgotten about the sketches, the sketchbook had been laying around their place every day for weeks and Mark had forgotten about Kunghang not showing him his sketches. He could've snooped around, but he didn't because he had forgotten about it with what classes and practice and the way he missed Kunhang's whiny voice when he came to Mark's room to ask for a massage. He hasn't asked for a massage ever since the new chair. Mark kind of regrets having insisted on it, now. </p><p>Anyway, Kunhang has been sketching Mark all this time. Mark aches to see more of the sketchbook in a way he never did before. It's not plain curiosity, it's a need. He needs to see if every page has something of him. A pair of eyes that looks like his, or hands that might have a tiny resemblance to his. </p><p>He wants to shake Kunhang's shoulder and ask him why he's been hiding these sketches, why he's been drawing him at all, but he doesn't. Instead, he takes a shaky breath and pretends he hasn't seen anything when he touches Kunhang's shoulder. </p><p>Kunhang's head shoots up, and he smiles when he sees Mark. "Did you run here? Late as fuck. You're lucky I didn't prepare your chocolate when you called."</p><p>"Traffic's shit," Mark replies, pretending not to see the way Kunhang hides the sketchbook under his forearm. The image of the doodles is imprinted on Mark's mind, though. "Can you get me the hot chocolate now?"</p><p>Kunhang nods, still smiling. He closes the sketchbook and throws it inside his backpack before signalling for Mark to sit down. He does and waits. Kunhang's barista skills are great, Mark knows, but not even the amazing taste of the hot chocolate can distract Mark from the sketchbook. He knows he shouldn't have sneaked a glance because it's something personal and Kunhang didn't want him to, but at the same time, Mark's infatuated heart can't really regret his actions. Kunhang watches him from across the table, squinting.</p><p>"What's up with you?"</p><p>"Me?" Mark says.</p><p>"Yeah?" Kunhang says. "Someone else beat you during practice? Was it Lucas?"</p><p>Mark snorts. "Come on."</p><p>"Was it?"</p><p>"Of course not," Mark replies. "No one has beaten me during practice in months."</p><p>"I know, that's why I asked. You look shaken up. Wait- Oh god, did you see a ghost? I told you ghosts get crazy during Christmas. Halloween isn't the half of it."</p><p>"Ghosts aren't real."</p><p>Kunhang rolls his eyes. "To you."</p><p>He can't tell the truth, not before he overthinks every possible outcome. Not before he loses sleep over the sketches and over Kunhang. Not before he daydreams about kissing him, about posing to him. So, Mark shakes his head. "I lied," He says. "I'm just tired."</p><p>Kunhang slaps his hand on the table. "I knew it! You sounded tired on the phone." His eyes soften. "You didn't have to come all the way here."</p><p>Mark smiles. "Best seasonal drinks. This hot chocolate slaps, actually."</p><p>"I'll send your regards to the chef."</p><p><em> Can you tell the chef I wanna kiss him, </em>Mark thinks. He says, "That'd be lovely."</p><p> </p><hr/><p>Mark <em>forcibly</em> moves on from the sketchbook thing. Once he realises Kunhang draws him, he can't stop thinking about Kunhang drawing him. Crazy, insistent and unrepentant - he wants to see more of the sketchbook. Obviously, he has the mind not to <em> snoop </em> through Kunhang’s things because his brain is functioning. He loses sleep over it, daydreams about Kunhang watching him with hungry eyes as his hands move against the paper, but he <em> moves </em> on from it. </p><p>It’s a week before Christmas. Mark is free from swimming practice for a month and at home after his last final when he decides to pack his things for the trip back to his parents’ house. This year seems like a good year to spend a few days sleeping on his childhood single bed, a few kilometres away from Seoul. He’s folding his clothes inside his suitcase  in the living room when Kunhang gets home, kicks his shoes off and falls face down on the couch. </p><p>“Uh,” Mark says. </p><p>Kunhang interrupts, “No.”</p><p>Mark closes his mouth, folds another shirt. Kunhang sighs. “Fine, since you insist, I’ll tell you what’s up.”</p><p>“I didn’t say anything,” Mark replies. “I literally didn’t.”</p><p>“I can’t go home.”</p><p>Mark looks at Kunhang like he’s insane. “You’re home right now.”</p><p>Kunhang shifts on the couch so he’s facing Mark, cheek smashed against the cushion. “I meant–”</p><p>“Oh! China!” Mark says, embarrassed to have called their little shared apartment Kunhang’s <em> home </em> like they’re married and in love or some shit. “Right.” He laughs faintly. “Why?”</p><p>“My sister is pregnant,” Mark says <em> Nice! Congratulations! </em>, but Kunhang rolls his eyes and continues, “And now my Mom said she will spend Christmas with my sister and her husband and I can’t afford to change the flight, so I’ll cancel it and get my money back and spend Christmas watching fucking Netflix.”</p><p>“Oh, no,” Mark says. </p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Do you want to come home with me?”</p><p>Kunhang stares at him. His ears are red. “It’s a family holiday.”</p><p>“You’re family too.”</p><p>Kunhang turns his face away. “Dude,” He says, but he sounds different. It’s a different “dude” from all the other “dudes” Kunhang has said. “No. I can’t– I’ll just stay home. Here.”</p><p>“Then I’ll stay too.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“No!” Kunhang cries out. “You have a family!”</p><p>“My family will understand, I can’t leave you alone on Christmas. I don’t <em> suck </em> that bad.”</p><p>Kunhang sits up.  “You’ve decided.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Nothing I say will change your mind.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Then,” Kunhang starts, reaching out for Mark’s neatly folded clothes inside his suitcase. “Guess you won’t need this!” He says, undoing all of Mark’s hard work.</p><p>“I still need folded clothes in my wardrobe, though.”</p><p>Kunhang giggles. Later, when Kunhang is in the shower, Mark calls his mom to tell her he isn’t going back home this Christmas because Kunhang needs him. It’s actually mortifying, Mark thinks, that his mother knows how he feels just from a single sentence and it’s worse that she sounded so <em> proud</em>. Essentially, it’s fine. </p><p>It’s fine, Mark repeats, three days later when Kunhang is excitedly rambling about a Christmas party they might go to. There’s sauce on his bottom lip, crumbs of pizza on his shirt and his bangs are tied with a soft yellow hair tie. They are on the couch, socked feet touching, as they watch some cooking reality show and Mark is so fucking in love he can’t decide if it makes him feel good or just actually bad. He wants to reach out for Kunhang’s mouth and kiss it, lick it clean, bite it. Wants to curl his hand around Kunhang’s ankle and pull his feet to his lap. He wants– and Kunghang looks at him and for a minute, a second, so fleeting, Mark swears he’s looking into a mirror because it seems like Kunhang might <em>want</em> too. </p><p>It’s gone in a second if it was ever there. </p><p>“So the party’s kinda chill,” Kunhang says. “Not a lot of people, but definitely a lot of booze. It’s a Christmas party after all.”</p><p>“Do you want to get dinner?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Before the party,” Mark clarifies. “A Christmas dinner. Just us.”</p><p>Kunhang bites his bottom lip. “I’d like that.”</p><p>It’s so close to what Mark really wanted to say. In his head, it went like this: <em> Hey, do you wanna get dinner? Like, just the two of us? Like, a date? Like, as boyfriends? </em> Kunhang would say <em> Yeah, I’d like that </em> just the way he did in reality. He wants to hope– he definitely hopes that Kunhang would say that.  </p><p>Mark doesn’t think about the party nearly half as much as he thinks about their Christmas dinner. Restaurants are either closed or fucking <em> packed </em> on the 24th, so it’s quite a hard task to find a restaurant that has nice food and just a few people. He works out their reservations for 8 pm on Christmas day and when the waiter asks if it’s a romantic dinner, he says yes. And when she offers a rose bouquet as decoration he says yes. And when Kunhang says if he should wear fancy clothes to their dinner, Mark snorts and tells him “no, you look good in anything.”. It feels like some sort of miracle – a Christmas miracle, maybe, that Mark has been saying things like these. </p><p>On the 24th, Kunhang asks for five more minutes when Mark knocks on his door and Mark lets him sleep in. He walks up to the kitchen, opens the fridge and gets an apple. He turns around and Kunhang’s sketchbook is on the kitchen counter. Mark has <em> really </em> moved on from it. It’s been <em> days </em> and he barely even thought of it. Now, though, he wants to see more of the sketchbook. He knows he shouldn't, he knows Kunhang might get hurt, but he thinks he deserves to see it if his face is all over it. Mark inhales shakily and reaches for the sketchbook – he knows what he’s going to find there. He has <em> seen </em> some of it, he has <em> dreamed </em> about these drawings. Even so, his hands are shaky. Must be the guilt, the thrill of knowing Kunhang could catch him snooping through his sketchbook, but Mark perseveres. He opens the sketchbook and recognizes Kunhang’s messy handwriting.</p><p>It says: THIS SKETCHBOOK BELONGS TO WONG KUNHANG! HANDS OFF! And a tiny drawing of Mark believes it’s supposed to be a mad dog.</p><p>Mark can hear Kunhang’s voice saying this, the exact tone he uses, the way his tongue curls around each word. He shakes his head and flips the pages. There’s a lot of sketches. Trees, rivers, mountains, houses, animals. People. People that he doesn’t recognise. Might’ve been people Kunhang saw passing by and just wanted to draw. There’s cats, too many of them. And there’s Mark. The first page full of Mark has sketches of his eyes, his ears. The second, it’s his hands – he knows it’s <em> his </em> hands. The third, his shoulders. The fourth, sketches of him swimming. The fifth, it’s his mouth. The sixth, his mouth again. The seventh, his smile. The eight, back to his shoulders, his back. The ninth page is the page Kunhang had been drawing on that day in the coffeehouse. The tenth page has Mark’s entire face, like a portrait. </p><p>He– he doesn’t know. He truly doesn’t know, but he doesn’t need to work out a coherent thought because there’s a loud <em> thump </em>coming from Kunhang’s door and then his voice saying, “I’m okay! I fell off the bed!” And Mark closes the sketchbook, runs to the couch and flops down on it just as Kunhang opens his bedroom door. </p><p>“You okay?” Mark asks.</p><p>Kunhang winces. “Want to give me a massage?”</p><p>Mark things of the sketches of his hands-on Kunhang’s sketchbook. “Yes.”</p><hr/><p>The restaurant is as packed as Mark believed it would be when he gets off the Uber, Kunhang trailing behind him with his hand holding onto the hem of Mark’s jacket. “Can’t believe you’re here,” Kunhang says. Mark doesn’t reply, he speaks with the headwaiter about their reservation. They follow the guy into the restaurant and Mark recognizes their table because there are red roses decorating it just like the waitress offered. He swallows. </p><p>Kunhang doesn’t comment on the decoration, but he pouts again. “You should be with your family.”</p><p>“I think you should let it go,” Mark says, opening the menu. “I’m here. I can spend Christmas with them next year.”</p><p>“I know, I feel bad.”</p><p>“Don’t,” Mark replies. “Let’s just eat. There’s a party after, remember?”</p><p>They eat and Kunhang tells Mark stories about his family during Christmas that make Mark resent his mother for being an only child for a moment. It comes and goes, of course. They talk about the party. Kunhang knows someone who knows someone who knows someone that rented a whole expensive club in Itaewon for a Christmas party that should put the music video from kpop idols to shame. </p><p>“What are you going to ask for dessert?”</p><p>Mark hums. “I don’t really like sweets.”</p><p>“What? You love sweets.”</p><p>“I like the ones you make at the coffeehouse,” Mark says, distracted. “Because you make them for me.”</p><p>Kunhang blinks. “Oh,” He says. “I– I didn’t know that. I could make you salty things, then.”</p><p>“I like when you make sweet things, don’t worry.”</p><p>“Um,” Kunhang says. “We could share something. I could– I could move my chair closer and we could share.”</p><p>Mark looks at him. “Yeah,” He replies. “That could work.”</p><p>Kunhang gets up, bringing his chair closer to where Mark’s sitting. The restaurant is so full of people talking and laughing that Mark barely hears the chair scratching against the floor. Kunhang sits down, puts his arm on the armrest of the chair and it touches Mark’s own arm. They do not move – Mark barely breathes. Kunhang leans closer, eyeing Mark’s dessert menu. “Any preferences?”</p><p>Mark thinks he’d eat anything if he could eat it from Kunhang’s mouth. </p><p>“Not really,” He says. “Anything you want.”</p><p>Kunhang blushes. “You’re lucky I’ve good taste.”</p><p>“Yes,” Mark says. “You do.”</p><p>“This one, The Best Christmas Pudding... do you think we should try?”</p><p>Mark reads the menu. “The Ultimate Sticky Toffee Pudding. Damn, they are full of themselves.”</p><p>Kunhang giggles, resting his head on Mark’s shoulder. “We could order both since we’re sharing…”</p><p>“You have a sweet tooth.”</p><p>“Maybe.”</p><p>They end up ordering both desserts because that’s what Kunhang wanted. As far as it goes, it’s a date. Kunhang doesn’t know it’s a date, but they are sharing a dessert on Christmas night and it feels weighted and different than all the other times they got dinner together. They are dressed up, in a not-so-cheap restaurant, on a table decorated with roses. Kunhang’s hair smells like strawberries and Mark could touch it with his cheek if he leaned down a tad bit because Kunhang is so close. He’s <em> so </em> close. It feels like after leaving his place, they’d take a walk in the park down the street. Mark would hold Kunhang’s hand and Kunhang would bring their joined hand to his mouth so he could plant a kiss on the back of Mark’s hand. Hand, hand, hand. He wants to touch him so bad. </p><p>“I don’t know about the whole “ultimate pudding” or “best pudding”, seems to me like these are just common puddings,” Kunhang says. </p><p>Mark laughs. “Three stars out of five.”</p><p>“Ruthless!” Kunhang says, dramatically. “But I’d say the same. They could do better.”</p><p>There’s chocolate pudding on Kunhang's lips. It’s just a smudge of pudding, barely a thing, but Mark reaches out for Kunhang’s face, slides his thumb over the spot. Then, in an act of insanity, he brings his thumb to his own mouth. He doesn’t realise what he’s doing until his mouth closes around his own finger. Kunhang stares at his hand. </p><p>Then, he lets out a shaky breath. “We should go.”</p><p>Mark doesn’t ask why. They split the bill and share the ride for the party. Kunhang makes small talk with the driver, Mark looks out of the window. At the club, Kunhang holds Mark close by the hem of his jacket again while working out how to get to the bar. It’s a high-priced club and there are fewer people than Mark thought it would be. More people than the restaurant, though. They get to the bar, Kunhang lets go of Mark’s jacket. </p><p>“Do you want a drink, baby?” The bartender asks. It takes a second for Mark to realise the guy is talking to him, he blushes when he understands. </p><p>“This is a bar,” Kunhang butts in. “Is it not?”</p><p>Mark giggles, then turn to the bartender. “Yeah, I’d like one.”</p><p>Kunhang scoffs. “I’d like one too. The same one you’re making him.”</p><p>The bartender raises an eyebrow at him. “I got it, you’re his boyfriend. My bad for not checking before flirting.”</p><p>Mark opens his mouth, but Kunhang beats him to it. “Yeah, you should always check.” Mark doesn’t say anything until their drinks are ready. He takes both as Kunhang takes his hand and pulls him into the crowd. He almost makes Mark drop the glasses twice before finding an empty booth with empty glasses all over the table. There’s alcohol dripping from the table into the cushion of the seats, but Kunhang doesn’t mind it. He sits across from the pool of alcohol and pulls Mark down with him. </p><p>“Why are you so mad,” Mark complains, putting the glasses on the clean side of the table. “We didn’t even pay.”</p><p>“You were about to flirt back!”</p><p>Mark makes a confused noise. “What?”</p><p>“You– Fuck, you are so–”</p><p>“Are you planning on finishing any sentence?”</p><p>“You were gonna flirt!” Kunhang says.</p><p>“I was not!”</p><p>Kunhang rolls his eyes. It’s quite difficult to actually see him when the lights are so low and the room is dark, but Mark’s eyes are getting used to it and he’s capable of seeing Kunhang pulling a face. “It was one thing to see you <em> flirting </em> before–”</p><p>“I literally never flirt,” Mark interrupts. “Wait, before what?”</p><p>Kunhang doesn’t reply, he reaches for the glass and gulps down all the alcohol before stealing Mark’s own glass and drinking up. “Before we started flirting.”</p><p>Mark is stunned into silence. “What?”</p><p>“Was it not what we were doing?” Kunhang asks. He looks away. “I thought–”</p><p>“Look at me,” Mark says. </p><p>Kunhang puffs. “What?”</p><p>“I was– I was trying to. To flirt.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“I didn’t know how to– we are best friends. I've liked you since I saw you, but I was so fucking slow to understand and then we were friends and–”</p><p>“Mark, I’ve been into you since forever. I wish, fuck, I wish I had said something sooner.”</p><p>Mark laughs. “What were we thinking,”</p><p>“Kunhang, you fucking idiot,” Kunhang says. Mark shakes his head and reaches for Kunhang’s hand. “You’re an idiot too.” He says. </p><p>“I never said I wasn’t. But I’m getting better now.”</p><p>“Mmm,” Kunhang murmurs. “Not really. You still haven't kissed me.” </p><p>So, Mark fixes that. He leans in, catching Kunhang's bottom lip in between his teeth and Kunhang whimpers. He slots their mouths together a second after and Mark discovers Kunhang kisses with his whole body. All of his attention focused on Mark, his hands on Mark's neck, nose dragging up and down and bumping into Mark's. </p><p>Mark has been waiting for this – he lets out an embarrassing moan as Kunhang curls his tongue behind his teeth, pulls another moan out of him as he drags himself closer until he manages to throw a leg over Mark’s lap. “You’re not thinking about dry humping me in the middle of a party,” Mark mumbles against Kunhang’s lips.</p><p>“So maybe we should go home,” He replies. “I’m definitely thinking about it.”</p><p>Mark places a hand on Kunhang’s thigh and squeezes it. “But the party–”</p><p>“Literally,” Kunhang says. “Fuck the party.” He kisses him again, so strong and full of desire that Mark is sure his brain shortcircuits. Mark tilts his head and Kunhang’s mouth drops to his pulse point.  “Like, I couldn’t care less about this party.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Mark moans faintly. “Me neither.”</p><p>“Let’s go home,” Kunhang says. “Spend Christmas on the couch. Kissing.”</p><p>Mark laughs. “I’m almost convinced.”</p><p>“What else do you need to be fully convinced?”</p><p>Kunhang pulls away from Mark’s neck and Mark pretends to think about it for a minute. “I will go home with you,” Mark says. “If you say yes.”</p><p>“Yes,” Kunhang says.</p><p>“You don’t know what I was going to ask.”</p><p>Kunhang laughs. “I have an idea.”</p><p>“Let me ask!” Mark says, planting a quick kiss on Kunhang’s lips. “Be my boyfriend.”</p><p>Kunhang kisses him before saying, mouth still pressed against Mark’s lips, “Yes.”</p><p>They go home after that. </p><p> </p><hr/><p>It’s late into the night when Mark says, “I saw the drawings.” Kunhang is half asleep on his chest, but Mark feel as he tenses up. “At first I didn’t mean to, but then I did.”</p><p>Kunhang sighs. “Did you like them?”</p><p>”A lot.”</p><p>“It’s fine, then.”</p><p>Mark pets his hair. “You aren’t mad?”</p><p>”Are you mad that I’ve been obsessively sketching your face <em>and</em> body parts for almost two years?”</p><p>Giggling, Mark says “Not really.”<br/><br/>Kunhang sighs again, and nuzzles against Mark’s neck. “Then its fine.”<br/><br/>“Do you want to draw me someday?”</p><p>”Like one of my-“</p><p>”<em>Yes,” </em>Mark says, rolling his eyes. “Do you want to?”</p><p>Kunhang shits and places his chin on Mark’s sternum. “Definitely.”</p><p>Mark smiles. “Good.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hope you liked your reading! Find me on Twitter: @kitsuwei.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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